


sourtoe cocktail

by aresentfulcaretaker



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:30:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aresentfulcaretaker/pseuds/aresentfulcaretaker
Summary: Jon is completely horrified and yet he can't stop laughing.In his hand, he holds a cup. In the cup is some sort of liquid - one stronger than anything he's used to, one you could only find north of the wall. And floating in that liquid is a frostbitten toe.





	sourtoe cocktail

Jon is completely horrified and yet he can't stop laughing.

In his hand, he holds a cup. The cup holds some sort of liquid - one stronger than anything he's used to, one you could only find north of the wall. And floating in that liquid is a frostbitten toe.

One of the men in their camp lost it this morning, removed it himself. The biggest off his right foot, separated at the second knuckle, the jagged untended nail still attached.

The man presented it to the group at dinner with the passive energy of someone commenting on the weather. That tone soon changed to excitement with the introduction of this drinking game.

Jon had only half been paying attention. When it all began, Tormund was telling him about an adventure he'd had with a witch when he was just a boy. The volume grew around them, shouts of joy, laughter. Next thing he knew he was holding the cup with its drink and its toe.

He stares down at it now. Already too many moments have passed. The group whispers, guessing at what he'll do. A few place bets.

He wants to do it, wants to be included if nothing else. But the smell alone stops him. The sight of the toe's blackened flesh, of the strange, bloodless wound at its end does not help.

"Come on, little crow," Tormund says at his side. He puts an arm over his shoulders. "Or maybe that's the problem, hm? The crow in you resisting."

"It's nothing to do with that. It's disgusting, that's the problem," he says that loud enough for everyone around the fire to hear. Then he drops his voice so as just to speak with Tormund, "I won't be able to keep it down."

The hand on his shoulder squeezes. It's reassuring.

"It won't matter. Not to them, not to me." Tormund tells him as his other hand comes to hold the cup with Jon, to urge it upwards. "And I already told you, vomiting is celebrating."

"Is this really something to celebrate?"

Tormund doesn't respond. He waits with the others. Jon looks at their expectant faces, at the toe. He shakes his head and laughs again. Then he braces himself and throws it back in one go.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ❤


End file.
